THE HOUSE AT SEA’S END

tomorrow.’
    ‘You didn’t get my text?’
    Ruth shakes her head. Her phone is upstairs, buried under a pile of rubbish.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ says Tatjana, looking back at the taxi, alreadyperforming a clumsy U-turn in the narrow road.
    ‘It doesn’t matter. Come in.’
    Ruth is aware of a dark figure looming in the background. ‘Tatjana,’ she says. ‘This is Detective Chief Inspector Harry Nelson.’ She doesn’t know why she gave him his full title but she is surprised at the sudden interest on Tatjana’s face.
    ‘Pleased to meet you, Detective Chief Inspector,’ she says.
    ‘… it’s a deeply stratified alluvial site in the Paleocoastal tradition, so of
course
we were surprised.’
    ‘Of course.’ Ruth can’t remember exactly which site they’re talking about. Is this still Arlington Springs Woman? Over the past few hours Tatjana has ranged from the European Palaeolithic to the Beaker people and Civil War sites in Dorset. Ruth thinks they are now on New World archaeology, a subject on which Tatjana turns out to be rather an expert, but Ruth is finding it hard to keep up. She knows she is rather insular about archaeology, preferring British or European sites (Britain was, of course, part of the European landmass only ten thousand years ago) to those in the Americas or the Antipodes.
    She is also distracted because she has collected Kate from Sandra’s and the baby, not content to remain snoozing picturesquely in the background, is making a bid for centre stage, cooing and emitting high-pitched yelps like a miniature cheerleader. Ruth thinks she is being rather sweet but she is scared to take her attention off Tatjana for too long. So she sits on the floor with Kate, who is propped up by cushions, occasionally handing her a brightly coloured toy which Kate ignores in favour of chewing the TV remote control. Tatjana has, so far, not looked in Kate’s direction once.
    Nelson had stayed only a few minutes, long enough for Tatjana to pronounce him ‘interesting’ which, Ruth discovers, is her highest term of praise.
    ‘How come you are entertaining a policeman in the afternoon?’ she asked, raising her eyebrows slightly. Ruth hoped she wasn’t blushing.
    ‘I’m seconded to the Serious Crimes Unit,’ she said, trying to adopt a Serious Crimes face. ‘I help with their investigations sometimes. Forensics, bones, dating, you know.’
    ‘And is there much serious crime in Norfolk?’ Tatjana still looked amused.
    ‘You’d be surprised,’ Ruth says. She needs to leave Kate and start supper. As all she has in the fridge are two chicken breasts and a very old tomato (she had planned to go shopping tomorrow), the options are limited. She is going to call it chicken cacciatore and hope for the best. At least Tatjana has brought some Duty Free wine. The problem is that she can’t leave Kate on her own and she doesn’t like to ask Tatjana to keep an eye on her. Eventually she puts Kate into her baby seat and carries the seat into the kitchen. Jesus, there was a time when she could go out of the house any time she wanted; now even a trip to the next room is complicated.
    Tatjana follows her, continuing the story of Arlington Springs Woman. Ruth tries to listen, cook, and respond to Kate at the same time. But before long Kate feels ignored and her cheerleader yelps dissolve into full-scale crying. Ruth picks her up and jiggles her up and down, whilst heating a bottle of milk in a saucepan. Tatjana watches from the doorway, glass of wine in hand.
    When Ruth is sitting down with Kate (plus bottle) on herlap, Tatjana asks, in a tone of academic enquiry, ‘So, what about Kate’s father? Is he involved?’
    ‘He’s married,’ says Ruth shortly.
    ‘That must be tough.’
    ‘It’s okay,’ says Ruth, settling Kate more comfortably into the crook of her arm. ‘I wouldn’t want to be married. I like living here on my own.’
    ‘With Kate.’
    ‘Yes. With Kate. And Flint.’
    Flint had received a much better welcome than Kate. Tatjana had bent down, tickled his chin and told him that he had very fine whiskers. Flint, as was his wont with people who fancied themselves cat lovers, ignored her completely. Perversely, with Nelson, who prefers dogs, Flint is positively skittish, jumping on his lap at every opportunity and shedding hairs over his trousers.
    ‘It must be lonely here sometimes,’ says Tatjana. ‘Do you have neighbours?’
    ‘The house next door is empty. The other side are holiday